


Best Laid Plans

by mostlikelytobe



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Devoted Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Drinking, Error 404 Kylo Ren Not Found, F/M, Heiress Rey Palpatine, Idiots in Love, Journalist Ben Solo, Love at First Sight, Mint Juleps, Rey is a Palpatine (Star Wars), Romance, Secret Relationship, Smoking, Sneaking Around, Soft Ben Solo, author is purposefully vague about decade but it's 60s inspired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29787126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelytobe/pseuds/mostlikelytobe
Summary: “Why are you wearing a wedding dress?” He asks slowly.“Sorry about that,” Rey says quickly, “but it’s all I’ve got to wear. Seeing as I was supposed to get married 45 minutes ago.”Even the best laid plans can go awry.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know. I have another work which I haven't touched in a month. But I started reading The Dud Avocado by Elaine Dundy (which I would recommend) and I couldn't get the narrative out of my head until I wrote this.

If you told Rey that exactly six minutes after alighting her train, cream suitcase in hand and heart on her navy tweed sleeve, that she’d end up in the arms of a handsome stranger which would begin in a series of events that would effectively scupper every single plan that had been made for her, she’d never believe you. 

She exited Grand Central Station, lost in a haze of smog, skyscrapers and romantic daydream and ended up floating off the curb and straight into the path of an oncoming car. The scream of brakes that had at first seemed dim and irrelevant to her was now screeching in her ears. It was all very close. It was a very big mess. And it was the first of her many plans for the day to go awry.

She’d shut her eyes in preparation for the impact, however nothing hit her. Just a pair of warm, strong arms, the faint smell of tobacco and the thudthudthud of someone’s heart. 

“Are you all right, ma’am?” A voice asked anxiously. Eyes still shut and fingers clasping what felt like tweed lapels, Rey could have kissed whoever it was for not yelling why the hell she wasn’t looking where she was going. 

She nuzzled into the scratchy material for an extra moment of comfort before opening her eyes to be confronted with a very concerned but nonetheless very _interesting_ face, she nodded dumbly with her mouth agape. She might just kiss him yet. 

He raised his eyebrows at her but continues to hold her close. 

“Is she all right, sir?” Another voice asked in the distance. She went to move and leave but found it quite impossible to put one foot in front of the other. He steadied her.

“I think so,” the close voice that belonged to the large hands replied, “what say you, sweetheart. You all right?” The voice had softened, like ice cream on a warm day.

Rey nodded and then looked to her right and spotted her beautiful navy pillbox hat - a graduation gift from her most beloved tutor back home - crushed under the cab’s tyre. “My poor hat,” she lamented sadly, her pink lips squeezing into a tight pout. The pair of arms chuckles, Rey remains draped against the lamppost, trying to catch her breath.

There was an upshot to this course of plan-ruining events, it occurred to Rey, as the extremely handsome man with his arms around her suggested they go for a drink to calm her nerves. Her cream suitcase, crushed hat and plans of afternoon tea with grandfather to celebrate her arrival were soon forgotten. 

The next thing Rey knew she was knee deep in mint juleps at a bar in _The Village_. He was calling her Rey and she was calling him Ben.  


***

  
Rey was terrifically excited to hear all about him and listened to absolutely everything he had to say with rapt attention, asking all manner of questions. The barkeep was giving her funny looks at her seemingly unfeigned enthusiasm, Ben indulged each and every one of her _and-then-whats_ with equal measure.

“And _then_ what did you do?” 

“I left,” he said simply. 

“But where did you _go_?”

“I sat on the subway until the end of the line.”

Her eyes sparkle as if he’d told her something much more exotic, “and then what happened?”

“I slept on a bench outside in the middle of November and almost got frostbite,” he laughs into his cocktail. 

She’d scooted her barstool right up next to his so there was absolutely no space between them. She was so close he could smell her perfume, something citrussy, he muses. 

As her laughter dies down, her hand lands on his knee, Ben opens his mouth to say something - _anything_ , but her gaze catches onto something behind him.

“Shoot, is that the time? I am **so** late.”

Ben hops to attention, his gangly limbs almost making him topple over as if he’s not built to move so fast. When you’re this big, you’re never in a rush.

“Already?” He bleets.

She’s picking up her suitcase and making her way to the door before he’s even got the chance to slip his jacket back on, muttering about how she’s going to be in _so much trouble._

“Rey! Wait!” He calls, throwing too many bills down onto the bar before trailing after her. 

She spins around and smiles warmly at him, fluttering her long lashes, “help a girl get a cab?” 

Toe-to-toe he raises his arm into the street to hail a yellow cab down. 

He grins down at the beautiful girl beaming up at him. He can smell the flower that she’d swiped from the centrepiece on their table in her hair and the mint from the three juleps on her breath. And he’s not entirely sure if the world feeling slightly off-kilter is because of her or the bourbon. 

With absolutely no idea what to say or do next, luckily, she does all the hard work for him and steps onto his scuffed loafers, yanks him down to her level by his collar, he makes a yelping sound that’s cut off by her lips planting themselves on his own. 

The world is off-kilter because of the girl, that much he is sure of. 

A toot from an irate cab driver causes them to break apart, “I should probably go, I think I’ve upset enough cab drivers for my first day in New York.” Her eyes are heavily-lidded, her lips are heavily kiss bitten.

He nods, unable to say or do anything else except chase her lips for one more peck. She smiles softly at him again and slides the daisy that was in her hair into his breast pocket, “they’re my favourite,” she mumbles and gives his chest an affectionate pat.

As she hops into the cab she rolls down the window and leans out of it like a movie star. “I’m on Park Avenue, darling!” She shouts before blowing him a kiss that he catches on the wind and theatrically stuffs in his pocket, she laughs and her cab fades into a sea of grey and yellow. 

Ben stands on the sidewalk dumbfounded, heaving a great sigh when he realises she thinks telling him she’s _on Park Avenue_ will make it easy to find her.

***

Rey tends to lose her balance when exiting vehicles, she’d been known to fall out of cabs by reaching and pushing against the handle at the same time as the driver did. She’s wrecked many a nice, planned evening out by falling face first into puddles and ruining pretty dresses. After almost getting mowed down this morning, she’s determined to remain quite still, and sat on her hands to keep them out of trouble until the door was opened for her.

Flinging herself dramatically at the revolving doors, Rey lets them spin her through, sighing dreamily as she takes in the foyer of the building she now calls home, monochrome chequered tiled floors and baroque artwork littered the walls with brass fittings and glistening chandeliers. 

Safe to say grandfather is simply furious at _Kira_ by the time she arrives upstairs a whole _four hours later_ than expected. And it just simply won’t do, she’s not a child anymore, she’s not here for frivolities. Who Does She Think She Is. She’s missed out on a **very important dinner** where she was supposed to meet **Very Important People**. 

Emboldened by cocktails and the ghostly remains of a pair of full lips she shrugs him off and flits off to find her bedroom. Behind closed doors she undressed down to nothing at all and spread herself out on satin sheets, giggling at the absurd idea of kissing the first American she’d met in America.

By the time Ben arrives back at his apartment, after clicking his heels up and down Broadway for two hours in a daze. He’d even found himself purchasing a bunch of daisies from a street vendor outside his building, like the one she’d placed in his breast pocket, and arranged them somewhat haphazardly in a milk jug on his window. When he finally sat down and shook off jacket, he began making plans of ringing every single doorbell on Park Avenue and blooms in hand.

***

“I’m not writing this.”

His editor, quirks an eyebrow and looks up at the red-faced man over his silver rimmed glasses, “why not? You went to Harvard and studied journalism, I would know, I paid for it.”

Ben’s nostrils flared, “you did not pa-”

Ben stopped shouting as his uncle’s started chortling, “calm down Ben, I know, I know. Anyway, what’s the problem? I thought you’d get a kick out of it.”

“I’m a highly-respected Harvard graduate and political journalist,” he begins through gritted teeth, “I’m not writing some kind of fluffy thinkpiece on some airhead heiress.”

Luke leans back in his chair and intertwines his hands behind his greying hair, “why not?”

Ben balks, “because I just said why not.”

Luke hums, “have you seen who this airhead heiress is?”

Ben rolls his eyes, “I don’t need to know, she’s been hidden away in some crusty English countryside manor since she was a toddler. Why do I need to write this? Give it to an intern. It’s beneath me.”

Luke grins, “no one else can write this.”

Ben sighs and takes a seat in the chair opposite his uncle, “go on.”

“She’s Palpatine’s long-lost granddaughter.”

Ben looks confused, “Palpatine? Sheev Palpatine? The politician you-”

Luke nods and waves his hands, “yes, yes, the politician me and dad outed for those dirty dealings after the war. Old news, Ben.” His uncle stands up and looks out the window behind him, “he’s clearly using the girl for some kind of political leverage, and you’re going to write the piece that makes sure he can’t.”

“Sheev won’t let a Skywalker within a mile of his granddaughter,” Ben scoffs in a bid to act uninterested. But his interest is piqued. 

Luke grins, “good thing you’re a Solo then.”

Ben stands with a snarl, snatches the telegram off the desk and stalks out of the office, leaving the door wide open. He barks at his secretary to clear his schedule for the rest of the day.

His uncle chuckles, “just like his granddad.”

There’s no photo of this Kira Palpatine that he can get his hands on, all he knows is that she arrived some time in the last week or so. His assistant ducked her head in to confirm a meeting had been set up with the Palpatine heiress at her Park Avenue penthouse.

Ben scoffs, “Park Avenue, of course.” 

For a brief moment, he allows himself to think of Rey and how she’s _on Park Avenue, darling!_ before furiously scribbling down questions and an interview plan.  


***

  
Ben arrives at the Palpatine building with a notebook full of questions and facts on the political giant but absolutely nothing on his long lost granddaughter.

He’d allotted an hour for this preliminary meeting, just brief introductions to the heiress and outlining what kind of questions he’d be asking. He didn’t want to be here long, he’d picked up some daisies from a florist on the way so he could start right away with his door-to-door search for the girl who wouldn’t get out of his head.

The Palpatine Penthouse was worse than he’d imagined, all black marble and chrome. The red-headed butler, Hux, had been worse than he’d imagined too. Looking down his long nose at him and his ill-fitting suit like he was a street rat. Ben didn’t like to throw around his family name too much, but he knew if he went by _Skywalker_ and not _Solo_ , chumps like the Palpatine butler wouldn’t dare to sneer. 

“I don’t think it’s overly professional to arrive with flowers for the lady of the house, Solo,” he’d said and moved to snatch them out of his hand.

Ben was quicker and slid out of the way, “uh, no. I have plans for these.”

A thin red eyebrow raised sharply, “how quaint,” he gestured to one of the mahogany chairs in the ‘informal parlour’, Ben wasn’t sure if two crystal chandeliers and a piano equated to a room being called informal but went along silently, “I’ll go and fetch the lady.”

It was silent for a few moments bar the large clock in the corner, Ben fiddled with the daisies nervously, suddenly concerned he was perhaps too hasty purchasing them when they’d now sit without water for however long this took. What if they wilted? What if by the time he finds her they’re half dead? What kind of impression would that make on her? 

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

He’ll just have to go back to the florist before it closes and buy mo-

“Ahem,” the snooty voice cuts through Ben’s panic over his precious daisies. “Introducing, Kira Palpatine.”

“Ah, the girl I’ve heard so much abo-”

His sentence trails off to nothing as he realises _who_ is standing in front of him.

She looks just as surprised as he does, a shocked expression filling her lovely features. 

“Kira…?” Ben began questioning and she cut him off with a _look_.

“Armie, could you fetch us some tea whilst me and Mr Solo get acquainted,” She says quickly, not taking her eyes off Ben and his gaping mouth, she did however spot the daisies clasped tightly in his hand, “and bring vase will you?”

Armie smirks, enjoying the potentially awkward event that might take place, “ah you see Mr Solo told me tha-”

Ben cuts him off, “oh no no, they’re for her,” he says abruptly at Armie and then looks at Rey, “they’re for _you_.” He speaks softly to her and holds them out for her to take them.

She smiles, “they’re my favourite, thank you.”

Hux darts his eyes between them and resists the urge to roll them. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Once the door is closed behind Hux, who gives Rey a pointed look on the way out, she drops the daisies and flings her arms around his shoulders. 

He catches her effortlessly.

“You found me,” she says brightly, flattening her palm on his chest.

He laughs softly, his hands wandering to her waist, “wasn’t easy, Park Avenue is pretty long, sweetheart.”

She blushes, “I’m new in town, how was I to know?” She pecks him on the cheek and pulls his hand to the couch.

“So, you’re Kira Palpatine,” he says, “not Rey?”

She shakes her head, “everyone but grandfather calls me Rey.”

She’s tucked her legs under and has her arm trailing the back of the couch, just touching Ben’s shoulder. 

“So, what do _I_ call you?” He says quietly. His fingers fiddling with the silken cushion that’s sat between them.

She gives him that smile again, “anything you want.”

Hux chooses that exact moment to return and set down a silver tray of tea, cakes and pastries. Rey snaps back her hand that was just beginning to trace patterns on his shoulder quicker than he can blink.

“Shall we begin?” Hux announces.

***

  
Ben books them a room at The Chelsea so they can make a proper start on the article without _prying eyes_ , as Rey had whispered to him through a payphone across the street from her building a day earlier.

He’d waited outside under the awning, no daisies this time, but a dictaphone and typewriter in his bags. Surprisingly, she arrived on foot, a pair of knee high boots clicking under an orange woollen skirt and navy sweater. 

She’d chatted idly in the elevator about the walk over to The Chelsea, how she’d written down the directions after looking it up on a map.

“I couldn’t exactly _ask_ anyone how to get here,” she grumbles when he laughs at her hastily scribbled notes on the back of a napkin.

“Your grandfather doesn’t approve clandestine meetings?” He quips.

She scrunches her nose, “exactly,” the elevator dings and opens to reveal their floor, “especially the kind with handsome journalists looking to expose some family secrets.”

They’ve talked for three hours before Ben realises he hasn’t asked her any of the hard-hitting journalistic questions his uncle will be expecting of him.

Instead he’s learned about her love of watercolours and how she wanted to study art in Paris but grandfather had her study politics at Cambridge. She says she missed the fresh air of the English countryside, the flowers, the green but she doesn’t miss the rain, the quiet, the loneliness. 

In passing she provides the briefest mention of her parents’ death and how her grandfather’s _people_ tracked her down in some orphanage. She waxes lyrical on who’s being shown at The Guggenheim right now, she’d spent last Tuesday there, has he not been yet? He lives here for Christ sake!

“So,” she says, placing her bare feet on the coffee table and wiggling her toes, “have I surprised you, Solo?” She’s delightfully blushed from the glass and a half of champagne she’d quaffed.

“You more than surprise me, Rey,” Ben replies, “I had no idea you were this _good_.” 

She could have died of happiness right there. Instead of responding she throws her flute onto the other chair, not caring about the stain it might cause before walking to Ben’s chair on the console table.

He’s still typing away furiously as she approaches. He doesn’t even notice her until she places a hand lightly on his shoulder. His broad shoulder. 

“Ben,” she says softly.

He jumps, probably causing a spelling mistake. He’ll have to retype this later.

She fuses her lips to his and sits herself in his lap, whether he likes it or not.

He likes it.  


***

  
“Your grandfather is throwing a charity gala,” Armie tells her over breakfast.

Rey nods, uninterested, still thinking about all the things Ben whispered to her last night in his car at the drive-in. Still thinking about all the things Ben _did_ to her in the back of his car at the drive-in.

“He thinks you should invite that insufferable reporter, Solo, show him what a charitable bunch you Palpatines are,” he sniffs.

Rey’s neck snaps up so quickly at the mention of his name it even takes Armie by surprise.

“Ben? He wants me to invite Ben?”

“First name basis, I see.”

Rey ignores his razor-sharp gaze by buttering a croissant with more vigor than necessary. Armie looks at her pointedly. 

“I’ll send him an invite,” he says finally, “unless…”

Rey’s knife clatters on the fine china, “oh for goodness sake, Hux. I’ll deal with Mr Solo,” she takes one bite of her pastry and stands up, “honestly, my grandfather puts too much faith in you.”

Hux watches her amusedly as she struts out of the formal dining room.  


***

  
He didn’t have to smile to convey satisfaction. He didn’t have to do anything. She’d done it all. Giving him every reason to be triumphant and smug by pulling him into the lesser-used study down the third hallway on the left, it was deathly quiet down here anyway.

“Well, _Kira_ ,” he said addressing her quietly and firmly, almost like an equal, “this is quite the charity gala.” He was sort of rubbing his back against the gilded wall as he spoke, making himself comfortable, savouring his triumph. _He knew it._

Drearily, Rey thought she might need to concede defeat. She’d made him promise to get up to no funny business tonight, there were eyes _everywhere_. And here she was the one doing the pulling into dark corners. “I just thought you might want to ask me some questions away from the party,” she says innocently, breezily, casually.

He huffs a laugh, “I thought the point in inviting me to this farce of a gala was to show off, not keep me all to yourself.”

She rolls her eyes and decides two can play at this game, “you’re so right!”

She leaves him standing in the lesser-used study down the third hallway on the left with nothing but a perfunctory peck on his cheek.

It’s about half an hour or so until Rey spots him meandering near the hor d'oeuvres, picking the caviar off the blini, and looking utterly miserable. The sweet taste of success fizzes on her tongue. Five more minutes and maybe she’ll drag him back to the lesser-used study down the third hallway on the left.

However, by the time she’s finished delighting in her victory, Ben is _accosted_ by the widow Tarkin, an elderly widow of one of her grandfather’s business partners. She was tiny, skeletal and absolutely doused in diamonds and pearls. He looked miserable.

He catches her eye just then. She flashes him the most brilliant traitor smile, a gash of teeth and two wiggles of her eyebrows. She had the gall to laugh at him, biting her thumb between her ruby red lips. The widow began pawing the lapels of his navy suit and he gave her another panicked look.

Rey smiles sweetly and begins to laugh enthusiastically at whatever her grandfather’s associate, Pryde, was saying.  


***

  
Later when the guests had cleared and the glasses swept away. After Ben had thrown her plenty of pleaful glances and then managed to pull her into an alcove under the grand staircase - under the pretense of asking her a Very Important Question - Rey ran a bath that was far too hot and practically blanched herself.

As she lay there, washing herself, grazing the curve of her hip, the wetness between her thighs that wasn’t just from the water, the mirror covering the wall around the claw-footed tub clouding up from the steam.

She’d always been a counter. She used to count the days since she’d last heard from her grandfather, a letter here and telephone call there. She used to count how many parties she’d attended in secret during her days at Cambridge (and how many times she’d got caught sneaking out). She’d even counted the amount of boys she’d kissed, a round ten. Eleven now, she muses.

This time she begins counting how many times she’d wanted to kiss Solo tonight. How many times she’d wanted to grab the oversized oaf by his oversized ears and smash their mouths together, all teeth and tongues.

She kept score like a game of bridge: one, two, three, four upright sticks and a diagonal slash for five. And so on....

She keeps going until the entire mirror is full.


End file.
